Once more, for love
by FireBurnsBrighter
Summary: Induratize (v.) To make one's own heart hardened to someone's pleas or advances, or to the idea of love. / Sherlock's a mess. So much so that even he doesn't try to deny it.


**A/N; Yep. The return of the strange structure and many brackets.**

**Essentially written as a companion piece to 'the heart, as it is', which I would suggest you read first, though this could be read as a stand-alone **

* * *

What was once a palace is now rubble.

Pieces of information and thoughts fly and float amongst debris; they move around one focal point, one room which is sealed tight and still stands tall.

The room is simply labeled 'John', and it sits there in the centre of everything, because it is the only thing that truly matters.

* * *

_We don't know a thing about each other, I don't know where we're meeting- I don't even know your name._

The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street.

(And I hope that one day you will wish to know me as I wish to know you, because I think that I might perhaps just let you unravell me).

* * *

He starts off his journey to take down Moriarty's web a week after John and Mrs Hudson visit his grave.

He makes sure as he watches them to close off his heart (or try to, anyway). He tries to make it as cold and non-existent as it was before he knew John.

_Oh, and there's just one more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock- for me. Don't be... dead._

(Soon, John, soon).

* * *

Paris, Rome, Mexico.

He takes out six of Moriarty's henchmen in five weeks and yet he's _not fast enough._

At this rate he'll be grey by the time he makes it back to Baker Street, and John may well have forgotten him by then.

* * *

_I will burn the _heart_ out of you._

I've been reliably informed that I don't have one.

_But we both know that's not quite true_.

(Maybe. Maybe I do have a heart; and maybe, just maybe, I've given it away to the man you've just strapped in enough semtex to take down Buckingham Palace).

* * *

_Tonight's a danger night._

(Every night's a danger night).

* * *

Another four across South America. Another one in Wales.

Moriarty had men all over the world, and Sherlock is determined to find them all.

* * *

There are lives at stake, Sherlock. Actual human lives. Just so I know- do you care about them at all?

_Will caring about them help save them?_

Nope

_Then I'll continue not to make that mistake_.

(I've already slipped up with you).

* * *

Sherlock hates all of it. The killing. The waiting. The games; but he doesn't stop.

He gets on the next plane that's heading God knows where, and he gets off and he searches and doesn't sleep nor eat until he finds the next one and shoots him between the eyes. (He tries not to recoil at the splash of blood on his face each time. John wouldn't).

Then he repeats.

(Once more, he tells himself. Once more; _for love_)

* * *

_Alone is what I have. Alone protects me._

(Especially this time. But I'll be coming home soon, just you wait).

* * *

I'll be next door if you need me.

_Why would I need you?_

(Yes, why would I?)

No reason at all.

(Of course. Even I'm not quite sure yet what it means that every time I think about you my heart skips a beat).

* * *

To take the life of another is a dizzying power.

To know that with the crook of a finger the man standing before you can just as quickly be lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

To do this even to a person you know to be a criminal is something that you know will haunt you for years to come.

* * *

Sometimes, Sherlock likes to look at the stars.

When he stops running for a moment and just looks up into the sky, he imagines that somewhere John is doing the same. (He ignores that logical part of his mind that tells him about time differences and how they simply wouldn't allow for it).

_Beautiful, isn't it?_

I thought you didn't care about-

_Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it._

(An echo from so long ago).

* * *

_But that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?_

(Bit not good yeah).

Sherlock knows now that when you love someone enough they'll never truly leave.

* * *

The final challenge is finding Sebastian Moran.

He's been across four continents and three oceans and the only information he has on this man is his name and his weapon of choice.

The third-to-last kill on Sherlock's year-long list leads him to where Moran will be in a weeks time.  
Sherlock shoots the woman and nearly (very nearly) doesn't flinch at the blood splatter.

He finds the other two in quick succession and gets the plane to the place Sebastian Moran will die. A place that Sherlock hasn't let himself think about in over a year. (_Because that's where John is_).

London.

* * *

It hasn't changed much since he was last here.

He didn't know what he expected, really, but the people still bustle around with their noses in their phones and the movies advertised on the sides of buses still look as mindless as ever and discarded chewing gum still litters the pavements.  
(_Better than blood _he thinks).

He gets a taxi to the address he has scribbled on a torn piece of paper. An abandoned warehouse. (Not the most original or climatic of locations, but at this stage of the game he's past caring).

He enters through the open back door and silently takes out two men and one woman on his way to the place where Moran waits.

He's a tall man with broad shoulders and a military buzz cut. He stands facing away from Sherlock, as though he (thinks) knows that Sherlock will want to take his time killing him.

Sherlock lifts his gun and shoots the second he sees Moran turn to move. He does it with no remorse, nothing but relief coursing through his veins.

(_Safe. Finished. Home. John_).

* * *

He doesn't even bother getting changed out of his ragged clothes before he rushes to where he knows John is.

He expects the punch, but he barely feels it because as soon as it's over he's pulled into a bone-crushing hug and his arms are wrapped around John and they're both muttering nonsensical things into the other's tear stained shoulder.

It's over and they're together again and it might not be perfect but _it's fine, it's all fine_ and that's enough for now.


End file.
